I used to write alot of poetry about an indian maiden and thought i would try my hand again.

There was a cold wind blowing
She knew it was blowing
Because she could hear it outside the teepee,
Brushing the trees, bending the limbs
She knew it was cold
Because it sometimes crept under the furs
Lending its chill to the one she already felt
They would leave when the sun rose
It was time to head to the hunting area
A long, tiring journey and her hand went
automatically to her stomach
He would be born on the trail, her first child
She should not be scared, she had seen 14 summers
She had been to the white people’s town twice
But she knew this journey would be like no other
On this journey she would finally become a woman
Not what the old women cackled about after her first night
With her brave, making her face turn red and her brave
push out his young chest with pride
No this would be a different kind of womanhood
She would soon be a mother and her life
The life she had known since the people had found her
Her life would never be the same again
The women would accept her at the campfires
She would finally belong somewhere
Shivering, she once again touched her bulging stomach
Before going back to packing
They would leave soon and she had much to do